


Thicker Than Water

by misura



Category: The Night Manager (TV)
Genre: Fade to Black, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Corky drops by the cottage for a midnight visit.





	Thicker Than Water

Corky went limp the moment Jonathan grabbed him, knife pressed against his throat.

"Feeling a bit jumpy, are we, old boy?"

Jonathan imagined moving the knife. If he was quick about it, if he didn't give Corky any warning, it would be over and done with in seconds. There would be a lot of blood, and of course he would have to come up with something to do with the body.

Roper might get suspicious. Even with the seeds of suspicion planted already, Corky's disappearance would lead to questions, an investigation. Trouble.

"What are you doing here?"

Corky's body was still limp, relaxed. "Friendly midnight visit? Heard your door was open all hours, for anyone looking for a little night cap or the like. I'm sorry, was I misinformed?"

"Yes." Jonathan lowered the knife, pushing Corky away at the same time, creating a bit of distance between them. Even if Corky wanted a fight, Jonathan would still be the one with the knife - assuming Corky didn't have one of his own, of course. "You were."

"Well. This is awkward." Corky eyed him, blinking a bit owlishly as if he were drunk.

"Leave," Jonathan said. "Now." If Corky talked to Roper about this visit - well, he'd deal with it when it happened. If it happened at all.

"Oh, don't be like that. In case you'd forgotten, you are our very honored, much beloved guest. Can't have guests going around slitting people's throats, can we, sweetheart? So why don't you hand over the knife to me, there's a dear."

Jonathan shook his head. "I don't think so."

" 'I don't think so'," Corky mimicked. "Well, and who gives a hoot what you think, hm? The knife, if you please. And if you don't please, I suppose I shall have to take it. Someone might get hurt."

"Someone might," Jonathan agreed. He tried to sound neutral, confident. The voice of calm authority, steering a drunken guest away from any actions that might inconvenience or embarrass the sober.

"My, but that does rather sound like a challenge." Corky smirked. "Feeling a bit frisky, are we?"

Jonathan wondered what would have happened if he had left the knife sheathed. Corky had let himself in. He'd moved silently, surely. A man with a purpose.

Thomas Quince might have been fooled by Corky's current pretense of drunkenness. "Major Corkoran. You are drunk. I suggest you go back to the house, to your own bed, to sleep it off. If you wish, we can discuss things in the morning."

"Darling, why would I want to sleep in my own bed when I can have yours instead? Much warmer. You can even bring the knife. Nothing wrong with a bit of pain to go along with your pleasure, though I confess, I hadn't thought you the type. Ah well. Live and learn."

Jonathan licked his lips. Part of him knew that doing anything other than insist Corky to leave would be a mistake. He had nothing to gain by allowing the man to stay, and far too much to lose. Sleeping with Corky wouldn't make the man trust or even like him. More likely, it would only make things worse.

Part of him wanted - not Corky, Jonathan didn't think, but something. Something more or less honest. A reprieve from the lies and the pretense of being someone he wasn't.

"In your case, I'd say silence is golden indeed," Corky said. "Such bliss."

Jonathan shook his head. Corky - there would still be a risk. He'd still need to keep part of his guard up.

"And here I thought we were getting somewhere at last. Rejection? Again? I'm hurt."

"It's not - " Jonathan swallowed. "I think we should agree on some ground rules. Before ... before."

Corky moved. Jonathan was still holding the knife, but he'd loosened his grip. Corky was fast - trained by the best, his file had said, not that Thomas Quince would know anything about that.

Thomas did know how to fight, of course, but Jonathan knew he had to be careful. He couldn't afford an incident, and Corky had been here too long to risk killing him, and so the only option was caution, playing along, pretending he wasn't fast enough, strong enough to keep from ending up on his knees, his own knife pressed against his throat, with Corky looking down at him, triumphant.

"Rather a turn of the tables, wouldn't you say, dear chap?" Corky pressed the knife down a little, to draw blood. Jonathan reassured himself that Corky was sober, and unlikely to plan to cut his throat.

"One might say so, yes." Jonathan's lips felt dry. He felt a trickle of blood slide down his neck.

"I have you now, my pretty." Corky chuckled. "Question is, what am I going to do with you? Or should that be: to you, hm? All these fun possibilities."

Jonathan swallowed. He felt the knife's shallow cut as his throat moved, noticed the way Corky's attention sharpened. "Whatever you want, I'd assume," he said. It should have been a frightening thought.

"Yes. That does sound about right, doesn't it, sweetheart? Careful now. Don't want you getting cut again by accident. I mean, where's the fun in that, when I can do a much better job on purpose?"

"This floor is really uncomfortable," Jonathan said. "Might I suggest we move this elsewhere? The bedroom, perhaps?"

"Well, see, the problem with that is, I don't trust you. You're a slippery thing. Pretty, but slippery. Still, I suppose taking your opinion into account would be the gentlemanly thing to do. A little quid pro quo, perhaps? One good turn deserves another, and the like?"

Jonathan considered his chances of getting up. Even if he did, though, what then? Assuming he got the knife back, he'd be back where he'd started, with no plan on how to proceed.

To judge by the bulge in his trousers, Corky was clearly enjoying himself. Jonathan knew he was half-hard himself, though he preferred to keep that to himself.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" he asked.


End file.
